GODDY SMALL

[Maureen K Clifford]

GODDY SMALL

Maureen Clifford © 2012

We’re all tough Bushmen here, none are sissies – we’ve all seen and done the hard yard.
all have battled the drought, flood and fire – where landscape is always left scarred.
Old Patrick was a larrikin drover – who’d ride and could ring with the best,
and today every eye held a tear, as we laid our old cobber to rest.

‘Wrap me in my blanket and lay me, near the creek where the Butcher bird calls.
You can say a few words if you want to, if not it won’t matter at all.
My life has been blessed with bright sunsets, though with romance perhaps a short fall.
I've always lived my life to the fullest and offered my friendship to all.’

So we laid him to rest as he wanted. His mates came from far and from near.
We gathered at dawn round the campfire, and we sat round and yarned with a beer.
The sun slowly rose o’er the mountains and our heads were bowed down as we prayed.
Whilst his flea bitten heeler lay quietly. An old dog with muzzle turned grey.
We’d gathered together some blossoms, nothing fancy, a gum branch or two,
with wattle – the gold of our country – and some Patterson’s Curse – for the blue
of its tiny flower and its perfume, for the red we’d picked Prickly Pear
which in retrospect was just like Patrick – it seemed to pop up everywhere.

We laid this rough corsage above him on the red soil that covered our mate
and each one of us stood in silence, taking time no doubt to contemplate
how out here a man’s worth is counted not by money or things that he owns
but by things he’s done to help others, and for small sins he hopes to atone.


“There's a good fellow coming your way Lord, he’s walking the bush track to home.
Please be a true friend and go meet him – so his last miles aren’t travelled alone.
On earth, he had good mates a ‘plenty. His wrong doings weren’t many but few.
So though disconsolate that he's leaving, his soul we're commending to you.
Down here Lord he’ll not be forgotten, for he always had stories to tell.
On cold winter nights round the campfire we'll remember old Patrick as well.
We'll tell of a bushman and ringer, one who mustered along with the best.
A good mate, a cobber, a man’s man. Who's now heading to his final rest.”


It seemed to us that the Lord listened – we were bathed in a beautiful light
and a rainbow appeared out of nowhere, suspended - with all colours bright.
The magpies above us were singing and their song was a joyful delight
Old Man Kookaburra was laughing – and we reckoned for Pat that was right.

So we turned away, started to break camp – I saddled up Pats horse, Red Ned
then whistled to call the blue heeler from his vigil beside Pats last bed.
He looked at me – soft brown eyes puzzled, and he wagged his tail feeble and slow
and the look in his eyes just spoke volumes – they said ‘No way Mate can I go.
My master is here. I don’t know why you have covered him here with this earth.
But this is the place I must stay Joe – for this bloke was the one saw my worth
when others had kicked and abused me and when others had left me for dead,
this bloke gave me life, gave me hope Joe – you go on, I’ll just wait here instead.’

There was no immediate hurry so I told the blokes that I might stay
a little longer to let the dog grieve and then I would be on my way.
I fancied I heard Patrick saying ‘That’s a good thing that you’ve done now Joe
for my old dogs days they are numbered and soon Mate he’ll be called and he’ll go’

Oh I knew it was a flight of fancy, for Patrick was no longer here
but I worried about his old blue dog who’d pine and then die was my fear.
And I thought I owed it to Patrick, for his horse and dog to do my best
and a day or two more spent here waiting– would give all of us time to rest.
But the time was shorter than I reckoned – Red Ned gave voice early next morn.
I leapt from my swag , Jesus it was cold, for ‘twas just piccaninny dawn.
Red Ned stood with chestnut head lowered; at his feet was his blue heeler mate
who’d gone walkabout with old Patrick - left his body behind to its fate.

Again I grabbed shovel and mattock, and beside Patricks fresh funeral mound
dug a hole not as big, for his heeler, that beautiful faithful blue hound.
Don’t laugh when I tell you this fellows – but a prayer I said there for the Blue
I commended his soul up to heaven saying ‘ Pat named this bloke God for you.

He reckoned God Dog would spook devils, and he reckoned he could muster clouds.
He always claimed Goddy would listen, to his prayers when he said them out loud.
Claimed he was the loyalest mate ever and no better friend could he recall.
So be sure to watch over them both Lord – Patrick and his mate Goddy Small.

[Maureen K Clifford]

My son arrived with some bottles of Red Ned today for Christmas It's going to be hard to wait a few extra days for them